


The Ugly Façade of Normality

by orphan_account



Category: Welcome to Night Vale, wtnv
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-08
Updated: 2013-09-08
Packaged: 2017-12-25 23:58:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/959154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When all things in Night Vale turn normal, when the angels disappear, as well as the hooded figures, the shadows, and the dog park, what will happen to Night Vale's citizens? Who else could Cecil go to, to help? Who else could Carlos ask to further understand Night Vale?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Ugly Façade of Normality

The day, in it’s simplicity, had started off in a typical fashion. Cecil, had jolted awake, as the wail of the town’s children echoed down the street, signalling the dawn of another day. The screeches pierced the walls, and slowly, ever so slowly, the man pushed himself from the lumpy, downtrodden mattress, slunking over towards the window of his apartment, leaning against the wall and staring down at the street. The children ran down the road, giggling and screaming as shadowy figures followed their paths at an alarming rate. Cracking the window open a tad, Cecil leaned out into the heated fall air and shouted towards the boy trailing behind the group. “Hurry, Jammie, you know what happened to Claudia last week!” 

With that, the young boy began racing all the quicker to catch his friends. A chuckle passed through the lips of the man, and a hand lifted to meet the tangled forest of curls matted a top of his head. Cecil wished for a moment, that the kindly, faceless, old woman that experimented on his hair at night would cease with her attempts at backcombing. 

Shuffling his feet towards the bathroom, tripping over the gelatinous bath mat as he stepped in the shower, and resting against the wall, Cecil rested as the pink coloured water spread over his shoulders. The heat brought a warmth to his body, and as his shower ritual began, and his blood stones glowed in the presence of shampoo, the broadcaster felt joy in the renewal of day. 

The rest of the day seemed to pass into the rather typical humdrum motions of normality. The dog park emitted it’s typical static on his drive, the stop signs and traffic lights were taken down for bi-monthly cleaning, the migrating pack of angels from old woman Josie’s house were on their way to the Desert Flower Bowling Alley and Arcade Fun Complex, and, of course, Khoshekh hovered above the sink, and meowed as his food was presented.

In the passing movements to the sound booth, Cecil filled his coffee cup, adjusting the sugar and pulling the fragments of crushed insects that had made their way into the drink. He also stopped for a quick chat with the newest intern, though he quickly forgot the young man’s name, and from there he slowly made his way to the sound booth. 

As the large door shut behind him, closing with an ominous metallic click, ensuring the room was soundproof, Cecil gazed out the window, which faced the street. Something, and he wasn’t quite sure what, something was amiss. Though the static that normally encased the room was still there, it was by no means as assaulting, or deafening as it was on typical mornings. The man stood for a moment, pondering over the uneasy feeling which had made its way into the center of his chest, knawing away at all other senses. The broadcaster’s hand drifted over the foamed walls, fingers pressing into the curvatures as he stared out into the street. 

Cecil was hardly one for gut instincts, nor did he believe in the evolutionary kicks that most everyone staked their lives on. This, however, was different, so very different, and so very wrong. 

It was as these thoughts drifted through the man’s mind, and tanned hands found themselves knotted in tousled curls of blond hair, that the world felt uneasy and strange, and Cecil was pulled from the distractions of though by a loud thrashing noise, a gurgling howl of anger, and the splat of coagulated liquid hitting the wall. 

It seemed as if Station Management did not approval of the tardiness, and that in his pondering, Cecil had lost track of the time. His show, which normally ran on a tight schedule, was now ten minutes late. 

Uneasiness flooding within him, Cecil walked over to his booth, sitting down softly, and rolling up the sleeves of his striped dress shirt, lifting his shoes to rest on the rungs of his chair. As the rest of his movements began to drown in familiarity, the uneasiness lingered, striking Cecil’s stomach as he flicked the switch for live radio.

“The world around us crawls, and yet it is ever stationary…. Welcome, to Night Vale.”

“Today is, as we all know, the all important, daylight savings. This is the day, when we all turn our clocks back, and lay out in the streets and scream our wrong deeds at the sky. The Sherrif’s secret police have commented, assuring us that the fatalities that occurred last year were mistakes, and are not to be repeated. Just remember to bring your blood-stones, and a baseball bat for bludgeoning your incarnated wrong-doings!”

“Now, the horoscopes-- Wait, what’s this?” Cecil questioned, watching as the lines of his phone, all twenty, started blinking rhythmically with red light.”

“Well, listeners, it appears as if we have some phone calls. I should remind you that our policy on phone calls are a lack of swearing, and should you feel the need for mass hypnosis, City Council requests you fill out the appropriate forms.”

The broadcaster pressed a few buttons, sending the radio off into a prerecorded message from today’s sponsor, which happened to be a re-run add for the now burned down, Louie’s Music Shop. Full of hesitance, which was odd, for taking phone calls normally struck Cecil with joy, the man reached out, lifting up the phone and pressing the speaker button. 

“Hello, thank you for calling Night Vale Community Radio--”

A brief and metallic hiss erupted from the phone before breaking down into the well known voice of occasional caller, Old Woman Josie. 

“Oh, hello Cecil, dear. How are you doing today?” Breathing out a silent sigh, Cecil feigned a smile, despite the fact she could not see. 

“As good as one can be on Daylight Savings day. How can I help you, Old Woman Josie?”

“Well,” She stammered, voice shaky with uncertainty. “All of the angels are gone. Normally they wave, or leave a note, but when I woke up from my nap, they were gone.”

Cecil hummed for a moment or two, pondering the new information. “I’m sure they’ll turn up, Josie. Thanks for callin--”

“Oh, wait, dearie, that’s not all. I spoke with that lovely neighbourhood girl, you know, the one that plays hopscotch with the amputee children? Well, she told me, that the shadows, the hooded figures, and the walls around the dog park are all missing. She cried for a while, and… Well, I think something is very wrong. Why don’t you call that nice boy, Carlos, I’m sure he’ll be able to--”

Cecil slammed the receiver down, and the room stood still. The radio was silent, the the most unnerving part was the silence in the room. Nothing stirred, nothing moved. It was quiet. Quickly getting up, Cecil leaned into the microphone. 

“Unfortunate news, dear listeners. It would seem as if our little town, is in a state of crisis… I… I feel the need to bring you an example of calm persaverance, however, I cannot bring myself to do so. Something is wrong, Night Vale… Horribly wrong… I would take this time to spend moments with your loved ones. Stay safe, Night Vale….” 

Switching his soundboard off, Cecil pulled away from the table of lights and cords and made his way to the exit of his office, and once the door was pulled open, the sight before him was the most terrifying he had seen that day. 

Sitting at his door, was not only Khoshekh, but his litter of adorable kittens. However, instead of floating at various heights, they all sat on the floor staring up at him with wide eyes. 

Meow.

Letting out a shrill shriek of terror, Cecil lunged over the cats and ran towards the door of Station management, pounding his fists against the door. 

“Please, oh please, move, growl, do something!”

Silence echoed back, the world seemed to stop.

Cecil’s hand dropped, slowly reaching towards the handle of the door, and quickly, while closing his eyes, the man pushed the door open. 

It took a moment, but when the broadcaster again gained his wit, and opened his eyes, he was greeted with skeletons, blood and oozing liquids, but no foul beast. No creature. 

Quickly fishing into his pockets, and pulling out his phone, the man dialed the only number he thought to call at such a time. The only number, of the only one he thought able to help. 

A soft caramel voice spoke after the third ring. “Hello? Cecil?”

Gasps escaped the broadcaster’s chest as he leaned against the door frame, tears threatening to spill from his eyes. 

“Oh god, Carlos… It’s awful… It’s terrible…Everything is wrong!” A sob ripped from the man’s chest, hands shaking as he spoke. 

“The dog park, the angels, the hooded figures, Khoshekh, station management… What is going on?!”


End file.
